The next morning.
When Song Nianchu woke up, Mu Shi'an was no longer in bed.
She pushed back the covers and got up, but there was no sign of him in the main room either.
Song Nianchu paused. Had he come to his senses and run off?
But that didn’t make sense—his whole family was here. Where else could he go?
Just as she was about to step outside to check, a strong smell of smoke hit her. She immediately pushed the door open and rushed out.
Thick smoke was billowing from the kitchen. It was on fire!
Song Nianchu charged inside. The kitchen was filled with dense smoke, but thankfully, nothing had caught fire yet. The problem was the excessive amount of firewood piled in the stove, which hadn’t properly ignited, producing all that smoke.
Mu Shi'an, coughing uncontrollably, was still stuffing more firewood into the stove.
"Stop adding more!" Song Nianchu stepped forward to stop him.
She pulled him aside, removed all the firewood from the stove, then gathered some dry leaves to use as kindling. Once the fire caught, she gradually added larger pieces of wood.
Soon, flames flickered steadily in the stove.
Song Nianchu then opened the windows wide, and before long, the smoke cleared from the kitchen.
Finally, they could both breathe properly again.
"Even if you resent me, you don’t have to resort to burning us both alive," Song Nianchu said irritably, eyeing Mu Shi'an.
Mu Shi'an’s expression immediately turned awkward.
"I wasn’t… I just wanted to make you breakfast."
"Breakfast?" Song Nianchu blinked.
Mu Shi'an nodded.
Looking at him, Song Nianchu sighed. The village chief had once warned her—when choosing a man, don’t just go for looks. Pretty faces often come with useless hands.
Now she understood. He really was useless—couldn’t even start a fire properly.
"You don’t just shove big chunks of wood in all at once," she explained. "You need kindling first, then build it up gradually."
Since the fire was already going, she decided not to waste it. She scooped some rice from the storage jar, rinsed it twice, then added twice the amount of water to the pot.
From a jar in the corner, she retrieved a homemade preserved egg. After a brief hesitation, she took out a second one, considering there was an extra mouth to feed now.
She peeled and chopped the eggs, adding them to the pot. With no fresh meat left, she sliced some cured salted pork, diced it, and tossed it in as well before covering the pot.
The whole time, Mu Shi'an stood silently watching. By the end, the shadows in his eyes had deepened.
He’d once heard the saying, "A scholar is good for nothing," and scoffed at it.
Now he realized how right it was. He truly was useless—couldn’t even manage a simple fire.
"Why are you just standing there?" Song Nianchu turned and found Mu Shi'an rooted in place, lost in thought.
Mu Shi'an didn’t know how to respond.
"Don’t tell me you’re doubting yourself?" Song Nianchu read the turmoil in his expression.
"I… can’t seem to do anything right," Mu Shi'an murmured, his voice low.
When his family faced trouble, he couldn’t help. When his sister was bullied, he was powerless.
His father lay bedridden, and he couldn’t even fetch a doctor.
People had always called him a genius, but stripped of those accolades, he felt like a complete failure.
All the suppressed emotions of the past weeks surged over him, threatening to drown him entirely.
"That’s not true. You have your strengths," Song Nianchu countered, pulling him back slightly.
Mu Shi'an lifted his gaze, waiting for her to continue.
"At least you’re good-looking."
Mu Shi'an: "…"
For a moment, he wondered if he’d misheard.
"…That counts as a strength?" he muttered.
"Of course! If not for that face, would I have spent 200 yuan in bride price to marry you?" Song Nianchu stated matter-of-factly.
Mu Shi'an: "…"
Somehow, he felt even worse.
"Go wash up. I’ll watch the fire," Mu Shi'an sighed, taking a seat by the stove.
"You’ve got the hang of it now?" Song Nianchu asked curiously.
"You just taught me, didn’t you?" Mu Shi'an picked up the iron poker and adjusted the firewood in the stove, stacking them as she’d demonstrated—leaving space for airflow.
"Wow, you learn fast," Song Nianchu remarked, surprised.
She’d assumed he wasn’t paying attention earlier, but he’d absorbed it even while lost in thought.
"Nowadays, this is all I can learn," Mu Shi'an said, a shadow flickering in his eyes.
"What did you do before?" Song Nianchu couldn’t help asking.
"I worked in physics research," Mu Shi'an answered flatly.
"Physics? So you’re a genius!" Song Nianchu gasped.
"You know about that?" Mu Shi'an was taken aback.
In remote fishing villages like Qinghe, most people had little schooling, especially women.
"Of course! Wait—were you working on stuff like atomic or hydrogen bombs?" Song Nianchu excitedly leaned closer.
In her past life, her company had focused on tech, so she’d always admired researchers like him.
"You even know about those?" Mu Shi'an’s astonishment deepened.
His gaze turned guarded as he studied her.
How could a girl from a backwater fishing village not only recognize physics but also atomic weapons?
Was she a foreign spy?
Mu Shi'an’s expression chilled instantly.
Even if he’d been exiled here, he’d never betray his research to outsiders.
"Don’t overthink it. I’m a born-and-raised Qinghe Fishing Village local. My household registration proves it—no way I’m a spy," Song Nianchu quickly clarified, seeing his suspicion.
But Mu Shi'an remained tense.
"As for how I know this stuff, I overheard customers talking at the state-run restaurant when I delivered fish to the county," she added, smoothing over her explanation.
"If you don’t believe me, come with me next time. You’ll see—those folks are all educated types."
The last thing she wanted was for Mu Shi'an to report her as a spy.
Only when he saw the genuine openness in her eyes did his wariness ease slightly.
"My apologies. I’m… overly cautious," Mu Shi'an said quietly.
It was an instinct ingrained in every researcher.
"Don’t worry, it’s understandable. I’ll go wash up now." With that, Song Nianchu left the kitchen.
Unbeknownst to her, Mu Shi'an’s gaze lingered on her retreating figure.
